Azraël: The Angel of Death
by Proserpinae
Summary: Godric is falling deeper and deeper into depression. His past actions haunt him and torment him. He is growing morose and melancholic during his mournful pensive state of mind. He wishes to atone for his past sins and make amendments. What if Death wasn't the ultimate sacrifice and he was offered a chance at redemption? What if love is forgiveness, and forgiveness is redemption?
1. The Angel of Death

**Azraël : The Angel of Death**

**Disclaimer:** All rights reserved to Charlaine Harris' Southern Vampire Mysteries and Allan Ball's True Blood. This is solely a not-for-profit activity, and in no way intends to infringe on copyrights. This is a work of fiction and any similarity to reality or resemblance to other published works is purely coincidental. The original character (Éléanor) is inspired after _Charlotte_ in the movie Wir sind die Nacht (2010) and belongs to the writers and producers of this awesome movie. Please, do not sue; I only live on meager student loans, anyway.

**Summary:** Godric is falling deeper and deeper into depression. His past actions haunt him and torment him at his every waking moment. He is growing morose and melancholic during his mournful pensive state of mind. It is all becoming too much for him to bear. He wishes to atone for his past sins and make amendments. What if Death wasn't the ultimate sacrifice to rectify his bloody past? What if he was offered a chance at redemption? What if love is forgiveness, and forgiveness is redemption? As Sheriff of Area 9, Texas, it falls to Godric's duties to ensure his rules and regulations are followed by the vampire community part of his retinue. Thus, when there is evidence of a rogue vampire on the loose in his area, he must capture it quickly and quietly before too much damage is caused. Will this fortuitous encounter be the chance at redemption he so desperately wishes for? This is a Godric/OC story.

**Setting:** This story happens before Godric is taken to the Fellowship (FOTS) and will perhaps follow to the events that lead to his capture by the FOTS and afterwards. We'll see where inspiration takes me. I'll edit my story as we go along. Just roll with me.

**Author note:** I absolutely despise how True Blood killed off such a promising character. Therefore, Godric doesn't die in this story, life goes on. Yay! J Please don't burn me at the stake, I'm not a witch and this is my first fanfiction. I've read many that were well written and wanted to try my hand at it. Also, please note that English is not my first language, as French is, so please be merciful and lenient with me. If there are any mistakes or inconsistencies in my writing, please point them out to me and I will correct them. Enough said… Enjoy! This a Godric/OC romance story.

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This first chapter has been re-edited, there's definitely more details that you might not want to miss upon. I originally had about 2 600 words, I'm now up to 3 500 words.

As promised, here is the music listing I listened to while writing. You know the drill, remove the spaces:

**Music themes for this story:  
**Maria Callas – Ave Maria  
Pavarotti - Una furtiva lagrima  
Enrico Caruso – Mi par d'udir ancora

**Godric's introspections (intro):  
**Raynald Arseneault – Alléluia  
www. musicme (insert dot here) com/ Natalie-Choquette/ albums/ Aeterna – 3411369967922 . html

Maria Callas – Ave Maria  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=l5cF5GGqVWo

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Don Giovanni, K 527; Act 2 Commendatore  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=D8uDJXA_aNA

Beethoven – Symphony No.7 in A major op.92; movement II, Allegretto  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=vCHREyE5GzQ

Stabat Mater de Pergolesi – Quando corpus morietur  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=3OPsIl-bfXw

Luciano Pavarotti - _Una furtiva lagrima_ from Gaetano Donizetti's _L'Elisir d'amore  
_www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=Fh2Vh8jwyQA

Enrico Caruso – _Mi par d'udir ancora_ from Georges Bizet's _I Pescatori Di Perle  
_www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=NxhFZK3F81Y

**The arrival of the Chief of Police (discussing the investigation):  
**The Illusionist – The Secret Plot  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=GYB1eDe_FuE&list=PLCD32EB2934177319

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Angel of Death**

**And I shall consume thy soul, and thou shall shed tears of crimson**

**Dallas, Texas**

**Godric**

_I rose early this evening. I showered, dressed and fed in less than a half hour. My nestmates slumbered, still. I entered my office and closed the door behind me for privacy in the same monotonous routine I have developed over the past decades. I, then, went to the meticulously sculpted table on which rested my old gramophone I'd acquired at the turning of the century. I put the vinyl disc on the wheel and oriented the stylus. The first notes were played on the piano, floating eerily around me, then the voice of Enrico Caruso filled the space with its melodious harmony full of agony as he sang Bizet's « Mi par d'udir ancora ». I sat in my chair and, against my better judgement, reminisced to the lulling opera. I have been rising earlier than usual, lately. And my slumber was more and more perturbed by memories I'd forgotten I had. Sometimes, I see faces, other times, I only hear their cries, oftentimes, only screams, but the absolute worst of all is the dreadful silence that follows. A silence that has been plaguing me for decades, now. A silence that is a true testament to my nature and my namesake, Death. It is, however, not as peaceful as I'd envisioned. It is chilling rather than soothing. So unlike Proserpina's Garden in the Underworld, where the Dead slumbers. Swinburne wrote a rather fetching poem about this particular Roman Myth shared by the Greeks. He is right about one thing; "for dead men", there is indeed "deadly wine" and it is "in an eternal night". A wine that is now as dead to me as my own unending Death. Colours have become mourn, passions have withered and I am doomed to consume tasteless dead wine that shall never consume me._

_Isabel, so gentle and compassionate, thinks I am in the deep of depression… But vampires' health does not variate. She thinks I am morose and melancholic, which of course she does not tell me out of her great respect. But I hear the hushed whispers. She says I'm brooding…_ridiculous_. They also say that I my complexion is graying, paler than ivory, and that my dark brown eyes have lost their sparkle, which is another more polite way of saying they have lost their warmth and have grown cold and remote, much like my personality, according to some. Have I grown cold? I have always been cold. Vampires are cold. But, have I always been this cold? It is our nature after all. It is, however, true that I shut out my child from the bond, to spare him my internal misery. It is not healthy for a vampire to dwell on their actions and reminisce on past times, it lead some of the elders of our kind to lose all sense of reality and do something as ludicrous as Meeting The Sun out of guilt or some other trivial emotion. It seems I no longer think like a Vampire as I am, too, contemplating such an end to my affliction; that ceaseless and relentless sorrow that haunts my thoughts and actions. Some might call it _remorse_. It is grotesquely absurd for a creature of the night like us to feel such a senseless and contradictory sentiment to our nature._

The nights were getting warmer and shorter, announcing a dry and hot Texan summer. I warmed up a True Blood and sat back in my office to read the newspapers. _Another murder; it kept covering the headlines of late. All those butchered humans... The killer was growing more brutal with each kill. The human population of Dallas was getting restless the longer it took to capture the offender. If he wasn't caught soon, the media would find him a catchy name, inspiring yet more rabid gossips. How I loathed modern times._ I sighed and turned on the news channel on the 62 inch plasma TV at the other end of the room. The following images featured the recent crime scene with blue and red lights from the patrol cars and numerous officers prowling the perimeters and collecting evidence. The avid reporters, like ravenous vultures, lined the yellow security tape trying to take the best shots, their cameras flashing aggressively and incessantly.

« …the police has yet to comment on this new development, as they are still searching for the "_AZRAËL KILLER_", a name that means "Angel of Death" and bestowed for the number of victims that keeps increasing exponentially. In fact, the _Azraël Killer_ has now murdered up to 32 known victims, in the past week alone. In all cases they were young men between the ages of 16 and 42 years old… »

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Enter."

Isabel closed the door behind her, glided in the room and nodded at me,

"Good evening, Sheriff."

She, then, turned towards the object of my attention with a grave look.

« …the local authorities have released a new statement in which the Sheriff requests and urges the residents of Dallas to stay inside their home at night and to lock the doors and windows, as a precautionary measure… »

"The _Azraël Killer_ stroke again?", her accent more pronounced having heard the disturbing news.

A humorless laugh escaped me.

"Indeed. The _Angel of Death_, a befitting name, don't you agree?", I sighed.

"It's certainly better than the « _Danse Macabre Killer_ » they came up with at the beginning of the investigation. I believe they also tried « _The Lazarus Butcher of Dallas_ » and « _The Judgement Day Killer_ » and something or another about a « _Doll-maker_ » or maybe it was « _Soul Eater_ »…", she finished, looking pensive.

"How many so far?", she asked with her great doe eyes full of compassion.

"With the past week, there have been 47 kills", I sighed heavily.

"Was there an issue you wanted to speak to me of?", I asked, turning my attention to her.

Isabel moved closer and took a seat opposite me.

"I received word from the local Sheriff. He petitioned a visit for tonight."

"Tonight? So soon…"

"Since the matter is pressing, I scheduled an appointment. He should be here within the hour."

"Thank you, Isabel."

Isabel nodded, then leaned closer with a confidential demeanour,

"Have you had anything other than True Blood, lately?", she asked softly.

"I know it is not my place to say so, but I worry about you, Godric", her warm hazelnut eyes full of compassion and worry.

"If you'd like, I offer you Hugo –"

"That will not be necessary, Isabel", I cut her, sternly.

"I appreciate your counsel, but you are overstepping your boundaries."

Just then, another more powerful knock full of confidence resounded on the door.

"Enter."

Stan opened the door and filled the entrance with his imposing stature.

"Evening, Sheriff, the chief of human authorities is here. He says he has an appointment and that it's urgent." He said in his customary gruffly deep voice.

"I will receive him. Do not disturb me for the duration of this meeting, unless it is a matter of great importance that cannot be resolved otherwise."

"Yes, Sheriff", answered Stan with his deep voice.

Isabel stood briskly and nodded at me deeply, more deeply than subordinates are required too. She held a great amount of respect and…affection for me, as I did her.

Stan left, followed by Isabel, and the young human Sheriff stepped in hurriedly. I stood to greet him. He unconsciously puffed his chest to appear more intimidating. It seemed he felt I was a menace, and rightly so. As we grew older, the elder of us developed a certain aura of power representative to our age that was much more perceptible to humans. They were not only aware of the threat of a skilled predator such as they were in the presence of any vampire, but they knew they couldn't run in the presence of an elder. That was the powerful aura that some of us exuded.

"Have a seat, Sheriff…"

"Hayes. But you may call me William. And I'll stand."

He gave me a critical look.

"When I called, your secretary assured me I would be speaking to the commanding superior officer of this retinue, not some little boy. I don't have time for stupid jokes, we've got enough of the prank callers, already. I demand to see you superior, son. Now." He said with authority, looking down at me condescendingly.

My fangs snapped down at his rude comment, and I stood briskly. I disliked, or rather loathed, been discredited for my youthful appearance. Although, at times it still amused me. These modern times made it even more unbearable, as young men of twenty five years of age were still not considered adults in society, even if they were legally adults at the age of eighteen. In my time, young men were adults at the mere age of twelve and were encouraged to start a family.

I moved too rapidly for his eyes to register the movement and went to stand directly in front of him and spoke to his face with my fangs in full display. He was at least a foot taller than my own stature, but that did not matter as he still cowed in such close proximity to my presence. My unfavorable mood made my accent thicker.

"I am the oldest vampire you will encounter on this part of the New Continent. Thus, if there is a boy in this room, he is standing in front of me. You would be wise to remember your place. You are only here out of courtesy and because I allow it. I want to improve human-vampire relations and am offering my full cooperation, only to be met with flagrant disrespect."

I retracted my fangs as a peace offering,

"Now, do you or do you not want the assistance for which you came here for?"

"I'm sorry, my mistake. You just look…soo young. I would very much like to discuss this investigation with you, since I believe it concerns you." He said, properly contrite, then took the seat I offered him.

"I was expecting Sheriff Reynolds." I moved towards a more comfortable subject to put the young man at ease.

In fact, the older Sheriff had quickly accepted the reality of vampires and strived to resolve crimes that required the more critical eye of a vampire. The charisma and strong bearing he carried through his old age marked the years he spent on the force.

"He retired three months ago,"

I briefly wondered what kind of man he was. Would that encumber on our future dealings? He seemed a young and able man of forty-some years with graying hair and fierce green eyes.

"and I was subsequently promoted to his position."

"I suppose congratulations are in order."

"Thank you."

"There is a reason for which I believe this case concerns you."

"What do you mean to say? Have you found evidence a vampire is involved in this matter?"

"No, actually, it's the lack of evidence thereof. There is no puncture wound to be found."

"Couldn't the forensics identify them?"

He gave me an incredulous look and let out an exasperated sigh through his nose.

"There is no fang mark to be found because the bodies are soo damaged they are beyond recognition. I mean, at this point they could be anything, but human. They should change that stupid _Az-a-riulll_ name to the _Ziplock Bag Killer_, because once he's done, all that's left could be scooped up with a spatula and contained into one, rather than a body bag!" He ranted out to me. He then seemed to remember to who he was speaking and his demeanour changed into that of embarrassment.

"I'm sorry…for…the outburst. I'ts been a trying week."

"That is fine. Please elaborate on what you meant by lack of evidence."

"Well, we never found any puncture wounds up to this point. But, there is a pattern. It seems obvious to me it's not a human. No human could rand, butcher, dismember and annihilate a body so efficiently in such a short amount of time, since the bodies are always fresh when found. They're barely a couple of hours old. And we didn't find any evidence of a chainsaw or any other kind of blade or weapon."

"My profiler believes it's either a woman with a serious grudge against men or some sadistic old pervert that gets off by mutilating little boys for his own pleasure…" As he finished his sentence, he seemed to realize his not so delicate phrasing about boys and avoided making eye contact, resorting to fidgeting in his chair and throwing me a few speculative looks, probably thinking that I, too, looked much like a boy.

"There seems to be a recurring pattern," as he said this, his tone became grave and he made full eye contact with me.

"all the…remains…of the victims are mummified. That is the strange part, Mummification takes forty-nine to seventy days to occur and the body must be kept in a low moisture environment with controlled temperature where it can completely dry. The bodies were generally found outside and they were fresh, which makes the mummification process impossible to occur. There was a leak at the beginning of this investigation, a reporter got word that the bodies were mummified and that's when the « _Soul Eater_ » made the headlines. This information hasn't been disclosed to the media nor released to the public because it would cause a general panic in the community." He finished with a heavy sigh, much like the ones I found myself experiencing of late.

"Mummification, you say? That is grave, indeed. Although, it is not something a vampire can accomplish." I sighed in turn. _But the most plausible explanation would revolve around some kind of Supernatural, which means I must quench this case personally before there is any suspicion amongst the human population of other species living with them. Humans are barely handling the presence of Vampires, they are not ready to know there are many more of us. In all actuality, they do not want to know. Human psychology is a strange thing I often find myself marvelling at; they are extraordinarily oblivious to the most obvious of all, if they would rather deny the undeniable, it becomes Truth, a Universal Truth. No creature truly knows the bliss of ignorance like the Humans do. They have an uncanny ability to deny what they do not want to see._

"You heard on the news that the body count has now piled up to 47 known victims. Actually, there might be more victims… we just haven't found the bodies yet." He said gravely.

"In fact, there's been an outbreak in missing people reports and there might be some that haven't been reported…like the homeless. The actual number of missing people is still unknown and so is the real number of victims."

"My profiler also mentioned that usually the younger boys are only mummified, whereas the older men are brutally dismembered on top of becoming a dry sac of bones. We can't decipher whether they've been beaten prior to becoming leather matchsticks. There's always a lot of blood on the crime scene, although we can't say if there's any significant quantities missing, since it's all dried up in the veins and arteries and turned to leather. There's no way to dissect leather to measure the amount of blood present. The forensics have never seen anything like it and there's no precedent of such a case in our files. They've had to resort to mummification study."

"That killer has become a threat to the vampire community of Dallas by causing much fear and insecurity. It is only a matter of time before they act on those fears."

_Fear and incentive was never a good combination, and that worried me. They will soon want a sacrificial lamb to slaughter. I do believe the modern term would be _scapegoat_. In fact a new church was gaining in popularity, lately. It is called _The Fellowship of the Sun_, a church that preaches hate against Vampires._

He bent forward, bracing his forearms on my mahogany desk and looked me in the eye intentively,

"Can you catch him?"

* * *

I have re-edited this first chapter to include more details I thought were essential to the plot. I've received criticism that requested more of Godric and to be reminded of his gorgeous looks, so there it is. I like the parallelism of Humans' denial and Godric's own denial about his depression.

What do you think? Are the tone, setting and atmosphere clearly established and alright so far? If you have other ideas about a killer name that's not too cheesy and inspires chills, I'll be happy to hear your generous suggestions! Also, should I elaborate more about the description of the environment, like the rooms and such? Is it exciting and new? I think I might go for a gothic style of romance where the general atmosphere reflects the mood of the characters. Did I interpret Godric well so far? Tell me what you think? What can be improved, what I should focus on, what I should cut out… If you have suggestions for the plot, it is not fully established at this moment, so I'll take any and all suggestions for consideration. Even if you're not a member, feel free to review, just as well!

If anyone wants to be my beta-reader, I need one!

I looove constructive criticism! So please be nice in your criticism.

I expect to update regularly, like every week and a half or so, because I loathe when stories I love are abandoned by the writer.

Love you all!

Proserpina


	2. And thy blood shall be lush

**This particular chapter will contain cruelty, sadism, brutality and violence.**

**Be advised.**

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Sorry it took soo long, this chapter and the next part of it took a lot of time, it had to be just right. Next chapter coming up, it won't take as long, promised.

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**Music Theme:  
**Carolyn Fever – Scary Music Box (Slender Man)  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=f8fUFmjqXZo

Dreaming of Nowhere – Dark Ambient music  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=lPtd4ZcYcEc

Eths – V.I.T.R.I.O.L.  
(Censored Version – the full version is in the mood of this story, but disturbing)  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=rhgG43JxVF0

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**Chapter 2: And thy blood shall be lush with thy own sweet wine**

**"And I will feed them that oppress thee with their own flesh;  
and they shall be drunken with their own blood, as with sweet wine."  
– Isaiah 49:26**

**2010, Dallas, Texas**

_Static filled my head like white noise. My blood was calling out to me, beckoning me…all around me. And the more I ignored it, the more static filled my head and confused my thoughts like a migraine, making my ears ring. …Ring….That awful ringing in my ears. It never went away. It stalked me like a sombre shadow. And that…Static…Confusing my senses. Blood called out to me, beckoned me, embraced me and caressed me in that static torment of ringing white noise._

The hunger was tearing at my insides, giving me painful cramps. I hadn't fed in nearly over a year. I should have been crippled by it, but somehow the trees of the forest seemed to alleviate my pain and soothe it like a balm. I used to be able to feel gardens, but when I was sired, it went away. It was painful like losing your sight after having seen the colours. I missed feeling the energy that radiated in a forest. I thought I'd lost it, my feel with nature. I used to feel the trees… I used to be able to have a garden. Now, they wither and die. _Humans have become my garden, but they too wither and die_ when I go near them or touch them. Strangely enough, it's not the same with vampires. Perhaps it's because they're already dead, no longer alive, so there is no life to take. My grandfather had the gift of sight, he saw things no other could see, he never spoke of it. Except one time, he told me I was touched by the Gods of the Greeks;

_« Hades kisses your hand as you consume pomegranate seeds, thus you heart will grow cold like the harshest of winters and your garden shall wither and die in an eternal night. »_

He died a week later. His words might have been the ramblings of a madman.

I scented blood, pumping through veins, it called out to me, whispering sweet promises. My fangs descended with a sharp 'snick'. I was like in a trance, everything slowed down and the trees swayed in the breeze. Blood blossomed in the air like a favored perfume, caressing me, beckoning me. My eyes bled black and I reveled in the feeling of warmth that crimson elixir gave me. The constant ringing in my ears tones down and vanished. The static I constantly felt around me, pulling at me in different directions, sometimes eliciting an effusion of anger, other times confusing me. It was like a calling, one I never answered.

The static faded as I approached an old man of forty-some years. He was evidently passed his prime with graying hair and an imposing built. He was standing in a dark alley, pushing the face of a young woman into a brick wall, a blade to her soft throat, whilst he loomed over her. When he met my eyes, he let the hand holding his blade drop to his side in stupor, my will subjugating his own. The young woman fled the alley and I was left alone with my prey. I looked deep into his eyes and let my blood whisper to his as I neared him and cornered him. I entranced him with my siren's chant, put him under my thrall and compelled him to follow me. His strong will succumbed to my influence, he dropped his blade to his feet in a soft metallic clatter. He had that dazed and bewildered look on his face and followed me like a soulless being, a charnel envelope.

I took him back with me under the cover of the trees that gave me comfort. I stopped at an isolated area secluded from the world and sheltered by tall oaks. I then turned to him and let my influence fade away. His eyes diluted, his breathing started coming into short rasps and his heartbeat sped up considerably, thaw-thump…thaw-thump…thaw-thump. Stupor left him and he realized the deceit I exerted on him. I inspired terror in him; he was petrified. I could smell his fear, it excited me, it edged me on. In fact, I could feel his intense fear in my blood, which gave me pause. But not enough as I took a step towards him in predator-like quality. My nostrils flared alive with the scent of blood…oh soo close.

"You're sadistic," I said in my lilting accent as I took another step towards him, "you like to hear them scream, to taste the fear in their blood," I continued in a seductive tone.

I then stood directly in front of him, staring deep into his eyes. He was like a catatonic mouse that just escaped the searing claws of a hungry cat. Breathing heavily in short rasps and trembling in terror. I relished in it, the terror I could inspire.

"Let me tell you a secret," I said softly, pressing my lips to his ear in a slow seduction, "I like to hear them scream, too, I delight in it."

I then pressed my palm flat against his stomach and softly racked my long nails down to his navel as if a lover's caress. And in a swift move, I pulled my hand away and plunged it into his lower intestines, gutting him as I slowly pulled out. My hand laced with that burgundy sweet wine. He screamed in agony. It almost was effeminate. _There was a poetic quality to his incessant screaming. It reminded me of another scream I heard once too many, when in the presence of my Maker. He, too, was sadistic. He took pleasure in giving others pain. And he despised the female gender above all else. Why he turned me…perhaps to loathe me._ His blood covered my forearm, and it delighted me. I relished and marveled in the presence of that crimson perfume, embracing me and weighing on my delicate shoulders like a velvet shawl. I was enraptured by the seducing caress of sweet wine, my senses exhilarated in pure ecstasy. _The blood called out to me…and I couldn't _taste_ it_. Fury suffused me and turned my blood to passionate violence. My acerbity flared and I ripped his arm off in an effusion of blood and gore, it splattered on my alabaster throat and dripped to my torso in soft rivulets. _I was all malevolence_. His screams intensified and I broke his other arm with brute force, forcing it out of its joint. I could hear it fracture and break as it could no longer hold out under the crushing pressure I exerted. His voice broke and he started choking, blood rushing to his face, eyes bulging. I then grabbed his face in my hands and softly caressed it while I seethed to his contorted face:

"_Shall you be my Fortunato?_" I sneered in a slow seduction.

I then ripped his eyes out in disdain. _He, like me, shall only know darkness_. He fell to my feet and onto his knees in a long hollow wail, _crawling like an insect I wanted to obliterate_. It seemed he had a newfound strength to scream as he vocally agonized in excruciating pain at my feet.

_How I loathed to look at him, scrambling at my feet in genuflexion, _prostrate.

I harshly grabbed him by the throat and pulled him up from his agonized reverence. I then shoved my first into his muscled torso, breaking and fracturing his ribs as I reached into his lungs, twisting them. Blood splattered on me and dripped like expensive lace on my arms, face and upper chest. Blood was seeping out of his mouth and came out gushing as I tore out his throat and ripped his still beating heart out of his torn chest, holding him upright with one arm imbedded deep inside him.

_I just wanted…a taste…_

I leaned forward and tried to lick some of it, my tongue peeking through my elongated ivory fangs, but found myself _Bound by the Blood_ and restrained from even trying in my famished state. I shook in anger and frustration, crushing the heart in my hand and letting the blood gush out and drip over my chin. Acrimony consumed me like wildfire, poisoning my veins. I pressed my hands into his temples and consumed him. _His fire, his energy, his life force, his vitality…was mine for the taking. _I felt a sharp white light, I touched his soul. I tore it out of him in contempt, _he was underserving, unworthy_. He could rot in limbo or in the underworld, I didn't care. I stared deep into his eyes, wanting to see the light leave them as he atrophied in on himself and dried up like a dying leaf. I ripped him to pieces, rendered him and butchered his rests.

_There would be no rest, no peace for him. Not now, not ever_, I sneered.

I looked at my delicate ivory hands gloved in burgundy lace, softly dripping, and thought to myself: "_Out damn spot! Out, I say!_" A soft sardonic smile reaching my lips in humour.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** "Out damn spot! Out, I say!" – Lady Macbeth in Shakespeare's _Macbeth_.

So, what do you think? I hope you're not too bothered with the gore, I mean, it had to be graphic, they're vampires. I won't go into physical torture, it's gruesome and it lacks a certain refinement. It's barbaric and brutal. But I might incorporate psychological torture of her next victims, like stalking them until they freak out. That sort of thing. Any suggestions? I thought her vampire bloodline, like that of Godric could have vampire powers/abilities unique to them. Do you have any suggestions for Godric's bloodline powers or that of Éléanor? I'm looking for something not cheesy like flying, but mythological, like glamour or to manipulate and distort others' perception of reality.

This chapter is divided into two parts, it's a flashback. The other part serves as a prequel to this one. But, I need to add my fourth chapter before I add the next flashback. Otherwise, I'll keep adding chapters in the middle of my story. Next chapter coming up, I'm finishing it up, and then I'll post my prequel flashback that's already done. Yay!

Please give me some love, I want to hear what you think of my dark chapter. Feel free to say what you liked or disliked. Non-members can review as well, you don't need to be an author, I deactivated that function.

Lots of love,

Proserpina

* * *

To my wonderful reviewers, thank you for taking the time to read and review. You don't know what it means to me, so allow me to spell it out, it feels like great big hugs!

Thank you _PrinessFergie_, I'm happy you like that idea. We don't often get to see Godric as a hunter and I wanted to explore it, although if I mess it up, it will be unforgiving, there will be no redemption, lol.

To _VampireElf_, thank you for yet another wonderful review and I've taken note of your suggestions. It's hard to get the characters just right, so I'm really happy I seem to be doing a good job. If Godric ever says something that seems out of character, please tell me.

Last but not least, thank you _racecz5_, I was afraid when I wrote a weak Godric. I see him as strong, so it was risky to put him like that. I'm happy it was believable. And I feel warm all over in a happy way that you like the first paragraph, because it really gives the tone and if I can't catch and retain the reader then, I kinda fail as a writer. So thank you!


	3. Cloaked in the dark velvet of night

I listened to this music while I was writing:

**Music Theme:  
**Brotherhood of the Wolf – _Grey Wolf/Gévaudan_

**Godric enters the forest:  
**(Gothic theme: parallelism of sinister forest and dark music)  
The Illusionist – Frankel appears  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=fTF0mbrfpUc&list=PLCD32EB2934177319

**Godric enters the forest and meets Éléanor:  
**(Gothic theme: music in parallelism with Godric's tribal origins and Éléanor's)  
Brotherhood of the Wolf (Le Pacte des loups) – _Grey Wolf/Gévaudan  
_www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=rYhJfolZFNk&list=PLOfJta5YPgAOflTclShbOqZolAHOCQgBE

**Godric meets Éléanor:  
**(Gothic theme: music in parallelism with the fawn analogy (Éléanor) – flute – and the imposing and menacing presence of an elder vampire (Godric) – deep trumpet)  
The Illusionist – A shout from the crowd  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=MgeQIgoBuys&list=PLCD32EB2934177319

* * *

**Last time:**

He bent forward, bracing his forearms on my mahogany desk and looked me in the eye intentively,

"Can you catch him?"

* * *

**Chapter 3: Cloaked in the dark velvet of night**

**When the wind bellows, in the dark shadows, doth he stand  
**

**And there,  
****In the Sorrowful Shadows of the Night,  
****Like an Ominous Specter,  
****Stands the Angel of Death,  
****Cloaked in Velvety ink.**

**Dallas, Texas**

**Godric**

The breeze was warm as it caressed my skin. I decided to wear comfortable grey jeans and a long-sleeved loose fitting grey shirt that exposed some of my ink talisman near the collarbone_._ Strangely, grey contrasted nicely with my alabaster skin, which shone bright in the soft moonlight._ It might be something other than a vampire, a demon, perhaps._ But, if it was a vampire, I would need silver to subdue it, and so I carried silver chains in my duffel bag and wore leather gloves. It must have been near midnight now, and there was still no sign of the feral predator in the park. It was a secluded park between the downtown nightlife and a residential area, _perfect for a romantic night stroll between lovers, and so it was an ideal hunting ground for the unsuspecting prey._ I looked up to the night sky, it was filled with bright sparkling stars. _I sighed in nostalgia of ancient times, on a night much like this one, when I would hunt with my child. It seemed these things did not hold any appeal anymore._

I heard a young couple making their way along the edge of the park. I was about to have a look when I remembered that the killer only preys on young men. And since it hasn't been caught and there are no witnesses, I ruled out the juvenile couple. It wouldn't be them. And so I kept on walking on an isolated path poorly lit by the lampposts. In fact, it was now pitch dark, but that did not hinder my stroll, since my vision is impeccable in the darkest of nights. I kept walking in the sinister forest full of foreboding menacing shadows.

_A soft chuckle escaped my lips at the irony; here I was looking for a potential prey, when I completely disregarded myself and I fit the description for the exception of one detail, I might be a youthful looking man, but alas I am Vampire. _

My inner musings almost made me unaware of the soft rustle of clothing brushing against the thick trunk of a tree. I did not let it show that the noise caught my attention and kept on walking at the same leisurely pace. Then, I heard a branch bending to accommodate a soft weight to my right. He was nearing. _The irony of the situation almost made me chuckle. I was being chased by my prey._ I hadn't received word from Stan and Isabel since their last check up call an hour ago.

_The wind changed direction and I caught his scent, it was not a man but a woman, and a vampire. Judging by the smell, she was no newborn vampire. Maybe she could be reasoned with. Either that or I might frighten her and she would bolt, forcing me to give on a merry chase. Giving chase was the very thing I wanted to avoid on the outcome of this night._

"You smell different than the others." _That would be my age. She can detect I'm ancient. Or perhaps she doesn't know what my scent means. But, _whom_ do I smell different than, the other victims? Other vampires? Isabel and Stan? Has she encountered them, yet?_

_She had a soft lilting accent, one I immediately recognised, French. It was, however, toned down with the years. It sounded more European, like Danish or German._ I ceased walking and turned very slowly, as to not frighten her. She stood behind me. She was gracefully svelte and petite, but still had the sensual curves of a woman, her bosom ample to balance her hips in a desirable hourglass figure. She had long dark hair like rich velvet that reached her lower back in wild tangles, that must usually look like sumptuous loose curls, and large dark eyes that shone with something..._Hunger_. On closer inspection,_ she looked rather frail for a vampire that had been gorging on large amounts of blood all the while leaving a trail of bloody carnage in her wake._

The leaves rustled in the wind and her wild, untamed mane bellowed and softly encircled her graceful throat as if a silk scarf. Her eyes quickly darted around her to assess any threat in her environment, without ever losing sight of me.

"How old are you?" Her eyes shone like that of a predator's in the dismal raven night.

"Sixteen."

_At least, that is the age at which I believe to have been turned. She wasn't asking for my vampire age. She was inquiring about my looks, perhaps seeking a sense of kinship to one resembling her own immortal age. Normally, that is not a question I relished answering, or even would deign to. But, it seemed she was open to discussion, and I would answer her innocent inquiries if it meant soothing the volatile fawn-like creature in front of me and gain her trust. She, herself, looked rather young, maybe too young. She was perhaps seventeen years of age when she was turned. It was frowned upon to turn such young vampires, that is why they became such delicacies to the older of us and were often exchanged or rather vulgarly passed around for favours. If such a vampire turned her, he would undoubtedly be several hundred years her senior, perhaps even in terms of millennia. Although, these are only mere speculations._

"What's your name?"

"I am called Godric." _That appellation was bestowed upon me, much like Death became my epithet._

"I've never heard such a name before," she frowned and tilted her head to the side. _Did she detect the soft footfalls in the distance? It was unusual for such a young one to develop such distinguished hearing. Stan and Isabel should be here momentarily. They were already on her trail. Was she aware she was being followed? Or that they were nearing?_

_Her muscles looked tense; she might bolt at the slightest sound. So much alike a fawn_. She looked at me suspiciously. _The more I looked at her, the more she seemed mal-nourished and skinny, especially with her emaciated features. Her stance was not grounded, although she stood firmly, her anxious looks around to keep track of her environment and the nervous wringing of her hands suggested a more volatile state of mind. She looked _fragile_, both psychologically and physically._

"Might I inquire as to what your name is?" I endeavoured to soothe her with something familiar.

What might once have been an elegant black dress was now in tatters flowing past her knees covered in dirt and…blood. There was that burgundy wine intertwined around her pale white arms like expensive lace. More of it in dried rivulets of crimson that streamed down her soft, delectable pout alongside her graceful neck. In a lack of refinement of her kills, some of it remained sprinkled upon her still chest in a testament to her brutality.

"Éléanor", she answered in a soft whisper, as if a distant memory.

"Compassionate bringer of light, are you here to alleviate my suffering?" I jested, at an attempt at humour to put her at ease.

_She remained quiet and gazed at me with an unusual intensity. Perhaps, she had enough suffering of her own? Her large brown eyes looked darker in the moonlight that filtered through the trees. She must be hungry, very hungry._

"Where is your maker, Éléanor?" I looked at her intentively. My dark eyes searching her own darker ones.

"When it rains, can you hear it whisper soft sorrows to you?", she asked, completely and blatantly avoiding my question. However, _her question bothered me. I know not why. Perhaps it was the hidden pain that conveyed her soft stygian eyes that now contained amber flecks of gold. A pain only known to few of us. A pain I knew. If I did not pay mind, she would successfully evade my questions and I would remain unaware of her subtle manipulation._

"I do, but more often than not, I hear those whispers when it rains not." I, nonetheless, answered her question. Still, she remained silent.

"You did not answer my question. Where is your maker?" I insisted. _Her masterful attempts at diverting my attention would not succeed so quickly with me._

Her gaze grew darker, still, and those amber flecks in her eyes vanished.

She never answered that question because at that same moment Stan decided to make an appearance and tackled her to the ground, – _very tactful, Stan_ – then proceeded to wrap her in silver chains. As silver is quite painful and she understandably doesn't want to be captured, she fought his hold. She hissed and clawed at his face as they rolled in the dirt. He straddled her with all his weight and let out an angry groan when she viciously bit his exposed forearm with her sharp fangs.

"Little Bitch!"

He was angry and was about to retaliate with a fist. It was time to interfere.

"Stan, that is enough."

A command of his Sheriff to which he responded with a noncommittal grunt, but kept his fist raised as if to hit her and did not diminish the intensity of his glare.

Isabel arrived, then and gasped.

"Underling.", I insisted.

He would not disobey a direct order, but needed to be reminded of his place. He finished securing the silver and stood over her as unceremoniously dusted himself off, smirking as if to mock her, which, of course, only served to incense her further. She struggled against her restraints and hissed in fury at him, which in turn made him chuckle in good mirth. When she saw it was no use, she resorted to glaring daggers at him and showing fang in a full display of open hostility. Her silent hostility was more menacing than the promise of savagery her earlier hissing inspired.

"I'm sorry, Godric. I should have contained him –"

"There is no apology needed."

Stan walked over to us with a limp and groaned as he tentatively stretched his arm. It wasn't the arm she bit. Not to mention that he was covered in mud and leaves on top of the dirt he just rolled in. And, he was exceptionally not wearing his expensive Stetson hat.

"What happened?", I inquired.

"We were checking out a couple of young teenaged boys, concealed of course, when she jumped me out of nowhere. The little bitch damn nearly ripped my arm off! Then, she kicked me!", he finished, outraged.

"And she ruined your hat", added Isabel with a grave tone. However, the slight twitch to her lips betrayed her sarcasm and ill-contained humour.

Stan glared at her.

"I'm sure it's utterly unsalvageable, now", she continued, unbothered.

His heavy glare turned to angry slits with a tightened jaw.

"She fought back and tried to dismember him. She dislocated his shoulder." Stan did not comment nor react to her new jibe at his virility.

"She._Bit_.Me!", he injected, outraged, "with her _fangs_!", he continued in anger and utter disbelief.

"After, you took her by surprise when you charged her and grabbed her by the back of the neck!" added Isabel, disapprovingly.

"She's particularly vicious, too." He added, glaring at his silvered nemesis.

"We chased her for half an hour and lost her trace, then we came to see you."

"She's an animal! …all covered up in dirt. Probably 'sleeps in the ground, too. Fucking savage."

"Well, you're all covered in dirt, too, does that make you an animal as well?", bantered Isabel, outraged by his attitude. It was to be expected, of course.

"No, I train animals like her", he glared at her.

"Then, go live on a ranch, you Ranchero poser!" Added an infuriated Isabel.

He, then, glared at the smirking feline at his feet, smirked in turn, and added in a serious tone:

"Maybe, instead of bringing her in the basement, we can dig her a deep hole in the backyard – I volunteer for that job – , chain her up to a tree like a dog and –"

"Enough." _This was quickly escalating and degenerating._

_Stan seldom ever volunteered for manual labour, unless it might offer the appealing prospect of a fight. He was offering this with perverse sadism._ In answer to his uncalled cruelty, she hissed in pure rage at him, _she looked more like a wild feral feline than a volatile fawn at that moment_, with full fangs in display and dark eyes of obsidian quality.

There was no need to provoke her. She was restrained, and if we wanted her cooperation, we shouldn't seek to antagonize her so.

"You may go, I will meet you at the nest." This was more directed at Stan, he needed to distance himself, so I could attempt to soothe her into a sense of security, and he should see to his wounds.

They nodded and left.

I walked over to my new ward. She glared at me. _It seemed I, too, had become the enemy_. I put on my leather gloves, re-adjusted the duffel bag and went to pick her up to carry her when I received a violent kick in the shins, then to the abdomen. I let out a gasp as the air was forcefully ejected out of my lungs and groaned in pain, surprised. Then, I looked at her.

"What was this for? Have I wronged you?"

She did not answer me, instead she stared at me with a malicious glint in her eye and jutted her chin out in a statement of pure stubbornness. _Did she think, if she kicked and clawed at me like she did Stan, I would give up and leave her alone, perhaps leave altogether? It would take much more than that to dissuade me. Not that dissuasion was an option when one was the Sheriff, no matter how tempting._

I crouched down watching her carefully this time as I grabbed her securely, then I pulled her up with me. She immediately pulled me off balance by wrapping a large silver chain around my neck and gave me a rather powerful punch in the ribs. My fangs snapped down and I growled low and deep in pain, instinctively grasping at my broken ribs, when she grabbed me and kneed me in the face, which sent me reeling to the ground and extracted yet another groan from me. When_ and _how_ had she gotten free from her restraints?_ Stan never failed to secure the chains so that it made it impossible to escape.

_The little vixen managed to free herself, hinder me and escape. I never suspected it. She managed to injure Stan as well. I was impressed. Not that I would much care to share a detailed account of that particular event with my underlings. Being overpowered by a mere youngling was not something to be proud of, especially in a higher position of power that commanded respect._

I pulled the searing chains off my neck with my gloved hands and stood with a groan. _She was long gone. However, her own burns would slow her down. My burns and ribs would need a True Blood to heal properly because of my restrictive diet. Normally, I would have barely felt it. I breathed in the warm moist night air, it tasted of the earth, of autumn leaves and of green grass covered in fresh morning dew, and searched the darkness with my keen dark eyes and sharp hearing, focusing all my senses in anticipation of the hunt. It would seem, after all, that I would give on a merry chase. I smirked and felt something I hadn't felt in centuries at the prospect of giving chase; excitement_.

* * *

Ahhh...Cliffhanger. Don't we hate them! Tell me what you think. What should I improve on, does anything seem unclear, would you like more details on certain things (actions, environment, Godric's physique, emotions, etc.)? Any plot ideas?

I'll post all the songs that inspire me per chapter on my profile, if you want to listen to them whilst you read. I'll also post a picture of Éléanor, so you have a general idea of what she looks like. Once my OCD's kicked in and I've re-edited my stories, I'll try to post the songs that inspire me that have the right atmosphere at the beginning of each chapter.

A big fluff ball of love and kisses,

Yours,

Proserpina

* * *

For my reviewers, because I love you bunches and read your criticism and it's therapy for my soul:

A special thanks to _Hillsgirl_ for her wonderful review! Thank you for your comments and your criticism, I really appreciate it! I swear I was all giddy when I read your comment, actually I was bouncing in my seat near tears! lol You're my very first reviewer, so thank you! Now, you've reduced me to a big ball of fluff inside, bouncing off the walls. Lots of love, and I'm ecstatic that you're enjoying my story. Chapter two is up wink ;) I'll definitely add more details to remind us of Godric's beautiful face… not that I won't write a few lines about those deliciously yummy abs.


	4. And all the Fallen Angels shall weep

Sorry it took a bit of time for this chapter, I wasn't sure where I was going at first. Then, I re-edited my first two chapters, again. So there's a new element at the beginning, just the music part, really (chapter 1).

You'll start to hate me, please don't hate me. I've re-edited my first three chapters, again. Although there are some new elements, you don't need to go back and read, unless you want to. My most sincere apologies. And please don't hate me, but I'm thinking of adding a flashback chapter in between chapter 1 & 2, purely for timeline reasons.

* * *

Music I listened to while composing:

**Music Theme:  
**Brotherhood of the Wolf – _Grey Wolf/Gévaudan  
_www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=rYhJfolZFNk&list=PLOfJta5YPgAOflTclShbOqZolAHOCQgBE

**Godric chases Éléanor:  
**The Illusionist – The Chase  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=E-eSKCEyiR4&list=PLCD32EB2934177319

**Godric tracks Éléanor once again:  
**The Illusionist – The Search  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=QQ1-bhzADQA&list=PLCD32EB2934177319

* * *

**Last Time:**

_The little vixen managed to free herself, hinder me and escape. I never suspected it. I was impressed. Not that I would much care to share a detailed account of that particular event with my underlings. Being overpowered by a mere youngling was not something to be proud of, especially in a higher position of power that commanded respect._

I pulled the searing chains off my neck with my gloved hands and stood with a groan. _She was long gone. However, her own burns would slow her down. My burns and ribs would need a True Blood to heal properly because of my restrictive diet. Normally, I would have barely felt it. I breathed in the warm moist night air, it tasted of the earth, of autumn leaves and of green grass covered in fresh morning dew, and searched the darkness with my keen dark eyes and sharp hearing, focusing all my senses in anticipation of the hunt. It would seem, after all, that I would give on a merry chase. I smirked and felt something I hadn't felt in centuries at the prospect of giving chase; excitement_.

* * *

**Chapter 4: And all the Fallen Angels shall weep tears of Blood**

**And I shall smother thee,  
****Like the Dark Shadows of Night swallow Light,  
****And then, in Death thou shall rejoice,  
****In thy merriment,  
****I am no longer,  
****Death.**

**Dallas, Texas**

**Godric**

I breathed in the moist night air once more and tasted fresh scent of blood carried by the North wind; _she was swiftly running towards the North entrance to the park. I would cut in her path before she reached the exit and take her back to the nest with me. If I lingered, they would suspect she was insubordinate and believe their Sheriff couldn't manage a mere youngling. I couldn't afford doubt to settle in on my nest in these times of fear and suspicion; it would only allow the seed of discord to engrain itself amongst us._

_It was ludicrous to even attempt to run from me._ That thought gave me cause to smile, amused. It's been long since I was last amused.

I swiftly reached the north entrance to the park, leaves barely swayed at my passing, not enough to be rustled, left undisturbed by a mastered art and refined finesse I acquired during the many centuries I ran feral in the wilderness, hunted down by the Elders' Council and other widespread vampire communities that answered to them. Teachings that I then passed along to my child. _A particular set of skills that was later honed when we were hosted from city to city and were contracted to hunt our species by other kingdoms in Europe as reinforcement to capture renegade vampires and bring them to vampire justice. It is now a bygone age_. The only thing that was disturbed by my movement and couldn't be remedied was the air, ever present. I have gained such speed over the centuries, it is barely noticeable anymore, seldom betraying my presence. I was ahead of her, even with a late departure. The park was rather vast and lengthy to cross. I could discern soft footfalls in the distance, rapidly approaching my position._ I immerged myself in the cover of the shadows and would cut in her path when she neared the exit_. The wrought iron fences were high on each side of the entrance and reminded a past Victorian era.

I heard the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. _She was close enough_. I emerged from the shadows and stood in her path, leaving her no possible escape but the way she came. She stopped abruptly and stood her ground, showing fang in a low hiss coming from deep within her throat, a clearly hostile gesture. At her insolent provocation, I felt trepidation and responded to her feline hostility by elongating my own fangs in a sharp 'snick'. She kept glaring at me, menacingly.

"You will accompany me back to the nest, where upon you will receive severe sanctions for breaking the laws that legislate my territory. Either come with me willingly or I will drag you back forcefully, but you will answer my summons as your Sheriff. This is your choice, choose wisely." I said in a poised voice full of authority, but using a soothing tone to temperate the beast that stormed within her.

She seemed to consider my offer, looking pensive. Her glare diminished and she furtively glanced around her, seeking an escape, but her bare feet grounded firmly on the cool earth, indecisive. She, then, looked at me for a while, as if to dissect me and discover any ill will or impure intentions regarding her. Of course, she would be punished for breaking my laws, but not unnecessarily brutalized for perverse pleasure. She looked longingly at the sinister trees, their shadows calling out to her and beckoning her, whispering in the wind. A wind that caressed her tattered clothes and intertwined with her dark hair in a lover's embrace around her gracious neck like a silk shawl. She looked again at the forest, almost mournfully. She took a hesitant step towards me, then, another and another until she stood in front of me. I extended my hand to her in an invitation. She searched my eyes some more, unsure. It seemed she found what she was looking for, for she put her hand in my offered one, in a gesture of trust. I watched her closely for any sign of deceit. I didn't believe she would come willingly, she might try something, still. She seemed calm. I started walking her through the exit and on to the street. It was deserted, but I could hear mortals making their way from the pub area to the residential district a few blocks further north_. I would keep her away from Humans to avoid eliciting a primal hunger that would make any rational thought impossible, blinded by the call of blood._

She started to get agitated, looking around. It was rather peculiar and unusual, since there was nothing around her to provoke such a response. It's what it was, a response. She was reacting to something, but what? It was out of my detection. I stopped walking and paid careful attention to my environment. Still, nothing.

"Éléanor," I said in a soothing voice, "what troubles you?"

She kept looking around, growing more and more agitated. She did not answer my question, she did not even looked at me or acknowledged she'd heard my inquiry. In fact, she seemed oblivious to my presence, as if she was elsewhere, standing alone.

"Éléanor," I said in a more pressing tone, attempting to get her attention. She kept ignoring me. Did she even hear me?

"Éléanor," I said more forcefully this time, increasing the pressure of my grip on her wrist for full effect.

She turned fully towards me, her dark eyes menacing in the shadows, leaving me no time to react, she tackled me and viciously kneeing my gut as she shoved her elbow on my temple. I roughly fell to the ground, incapacitated for all of a fraction of a second, more disoriented than anything else. I stood just as quickly. _She was gone, again. It seemed a fraction of a second was all she needed to evade me, again. This had to end. I would be expected back at the nest by now. Was I so depleted I couldn't see it coming when she charged at me? Albeit weakened, a mere youngling couldn't overpower me. She had to be strong, even if she looked frail. She did manage to wound Stan and outran both her seniors._

Her scent was fresh, it was easy to track her. I reached the pub area and sighed in slight exasperation. It was crawling with humans. Their strong scents mingling together and covering hers like a cheap perfume that smells much too strong. The wind carried her scent all around me, making it difficult to track her. It was as if she was running in circles, masking her scent. Perhaps, she was. I proceeded to examine all the dark alleys, if she was trying to throw me off her trail, she would need to conceal herself in the dark shadows. It didn't take me much time at all at my age to figure out her ploy and find her trace, once more, like the experienced killer I am. Her carefully masked trail was leading past the residential area of the suburbs and towards an old cemetery on the outskirts of Dallas. Any lesser experienced tracker would have missed it. There was less coverage from the trees and foliage, but it was considerably more than the residential area could offer. However, the stench of death, ever present, could easily dissipate her scent. I finally caught up to her, her scent was getting more fresh; I was close, very close.

_She is _fast_ for one so young. And _strong_._

I ran passed the tombs and followed her trail to the older section of the cemetery. My view has obstructed by rows of mausoleums. I accelerated my pace and when I glimpsed her I zoomed in a whish of air and caught her in an unbreakable hold. Holding her by the front of her neck, I forced her to her knees in a show of dominance and to keep her from retaliating. She still hissed and growled, but wisely refrained from trying to claw at the offending arm that restrained her.

"You will come with me now." I said in a slow drawl. _The sun would rise in less than an hour and we were expected. Our arrival was long overdue._

She gave me a look of pure defiance and 'snicked' her fangs into place, I could have sighed in utter exasperation to her obstinate attitude.

I raised her to her knees and grabbed her once more in a strong hold, she bit and clawed and hissed in rage. Twisting and turning, this and that way, in a hope it would break my hold. Never admitting defeat, she kept it up the whole way back to the nest. In all consideration, she became more aggressive and feral the closer we got the nest. Stan was at least correct on his assessment, she _was_ 'particularly vicious'. As I stepped a foot on the path that lead to the house, Isabel opened the door with a both relieved and surprised look on her face.

"Sheriff, we were concerned."

She held the door open for me and my feral charge. She growled and hissed and tried to claw at my exposed arm that had a hold on her neck. I hissed in pain and growled when she finally bit me with her sharp fangs, painfully tearing into my arm as I maneuvered her over the threshold and into the house. My fangs extended in pain and anger, and a low growl emanated from my throat.

"Enough." I said, forcefully grabbing her by the back of the neck like a bad kitten and giving her a slight shake. To which she responded by meowing in a low growl and hissing viciously. However, she stopped trying to flay me and clawing at my arm. Thin crimson trails littered my arms in an intricate web from her attempts at dislodging me by continuously racking her sharp nails and clawing at me. Her back was rigid, she might pounce at the slightest provocation. But at least, she was no longer twisting and fighting my hold. For the moment.

Isabel gave me a long look, taking notice of my soiled state, my once pristine clothes were covered in dirt and a smidgen of blood stained the collar of my grey shirt, but she wisely remained quiet. I removed my duffel bag and handed it over to her, which she took. Stan entered the foyer with a glass of donor blood in hand.

"She givin' you trouble, Sheriff?" He asked in a low rumble.

_It seemed my dishevelled state did not pass unnoticed by any one._

"I'll take her off your hands if you like, 'make sure she knows to respect her elders proper." He continued, _fuelling a corrupt desire to dominate her and feed his own desires, no doubt._

_Of course, his last comment did not go unnoticed by my once sedate charge. She bared her fangs at him in a promise of untamed savagery and hissed at him in hostility, and put on a show of twisting and turning, once more, in a false hope to get free and attain her newfound nemesis. Perhaps to claw his face off or to administer some other sort of physical punishment equally painful to render justice to her rage and outrage at his suggestion of taming her. _

Isabel gave him a dark glare and interceded, "Maybe, it's _you_ we should tie up to a tree, _Zorro_," she said in her Hispanic accent, rolling her _r_'s, she then turned to bow deeply at me "Sheriff," and walked off, indignant.

Stan became rigid in fury at that comment, inhaling and exhaling loudly through his nose, his eyes turned to angry slits as he scrutinized her closely until she disappeared from view, most probably to go see her human companion.

"That will not be necessary, Underling." _My answer strained by the effort to keep her contained in my weakened state of prolonged fasting. For the exception of yesterday evening, I hadn't fed in over two weeks. I concealed this from Isabel, she worried too much. And my feeding habits were no one's interest but my own. She would never have succeeded at surprising me, twice, if it wasn't for my current diet, no matter her stealth or agility._

"I've ordered in for the night, if you want to partake, Sheriff."

"Thank you, Underling, but I am not hungry." _That was not true. The hunger was tearing at me, demanding I fed. But, I categorically refused to give in to it. Infinitely preferring the pain of abstinence over the sentiment of fulfilment provided by the taking of blood. I do not completely understand my obstinacy to maintain such a senseless diet. Perhaps it was because feeding no longer held any appeal. It no longer brought me any pleasure as it once did. Long ago. In all truth, blood had become mourn and tasteless. It was…sustenance. Perhaps that is why I favored True Blood with its bitter taste. My child was correct, it was _vile_. But then, I _am_ vile._

"I will retire for the day, goodnight."

"Sheriff," Stan said in his gruff voice, nodding at me.

* * *

What next? Don't be disappointed this chapter ended like this, I think I'll put it in two parts, or make another chapter. But next chapter will most likely end up in a cliff hanger, so enjoy the somewhat slow end to this one wink-wink.

So, what do you think? Was the chase exciting? If not, leave me a review and I'll correct it. Any suggestions to what happens next or for the plot development? If you enjoyed a particular phrase or scene, please review, I am very dedicated and take my work very seriously, I will endeavour to add other similar tid-bits for you. I write for you, may you be my silent readers or those brave ones that leave me wonderful reviews, even if it's just a word. Thank you! It means the world to me that you took the time to read, and perhaps review.

Am I portraying Godric right? If not, I need to know to fix it. I portrayed him as weaker because of his diet, hopefully not too weak. To me, Godric is the epitome of strength.

What did you think of the bantering between Isabel and Stan? Is the chemistry there? Or is it lacking?

Chapter 4 will be coming up shortly. This one was too long, so I cut it into two parts. There will be some interesting development coming up in Chapter 4 and some more in Chapter 5 wink-wink. So there is no misunderstanding, I meant twists in my plot, not lemony goodness, I'm building my plot as we go along. I want to build character development, not jump into lemony goodness right away, because that tension is where all the sensuality is, so I want to build it up.

Sorry for the delay, classes have started again. But, chapters will be coming in regularly. If I ever loose inspiration, your reviews will keep this story alive. I will not give up as long as I get reviews. I will not abandon this story. I still need a Betta, if there's one out there that would be interested you can PM me.

Love,

Proserpina

* * *

Thank you _VampireElf_ for your wonderful review, it is really appreciated! And thank you for your review, _Lycan Lover 411_.

And to _Midnat_, thank you as well for your very enjoyable review, it is kind of ironic, as I read your stories as well, good job by the way. I'll have to leave you a proper review, now lol. The link between the bodies and Éléanor will be explained soon enough, perhaps by Chapter 5. But, I don't want to reveal everything right away, this tid-bit of information is part of the plot build-up and helps keeping that dark vibe into play for now. Don't worry, I'll try to keep this vibe by adding my next plot twist. I take that dark vibe comment as a high compliment, so thank you. In answer to your question, you didn't miss any clues, in fact you're confused because you caught on the nuance I wanted to establish, I'm quite happy with myself as it was my intention to make it confusing regarding her age. Is she new? Since age is relative to Godric, to him she is an infant. I'll play with that for a little bit, but I'll tell you her age soon enough, perhaps in about two or three chapters wink. Have patience, roll with me. When I re-edited, I added a new clue to her age lol.


	5. For thou hast tasted the corrupt blood

Music I listened to while composing:

**Éléanor bleeds:  
**Kingdom of Heaven OST | Recording Sessions | Disc1  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=aOOpRTQxZWM&feature=player_detailpage#t=150

**Fight sequence:  
**Brotherhood of the Wolf – Mani et les Gitans  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=_jKgBEKXvtg&list=PLOfJta5YPgAOflTclShbOqZolAHOCQgBE

Brotherhood of the Wolf – Justice for Sardis  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=TTADNxrKjg8&list=PLOfJta5YPgAOflTclShbOqZolAHOCQgBE

Eths – V.I.T.R.I.O.L.  
(Censored Version – the full version is in the mood of this story, but disturbing)  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=rhgG43JxVF0

* * *

**Last Time:**

"I'll take her off your hands if you like, 'make sure she knows to respect her elders proper." He continued, _fuelling a corrupt desire to dominate her and feed his own desires, no doubt._

_Of course, his last comment did not go unnoticed by my once sedate charge. She bared her fangs at him in a promise of untamed savagery and hissed at him in hostility, and put on a show of twisting and turning, once more, in a false hope to get free and attain her newfound nemesis. Perhaps to claw his face off or to administer some other sort of physical punishment equally painful to render justice to her rage and outrage at his suggestion of taming her. _

Isabel gave him a dark glare and interceded, "Maybe, it's _you_ we should tie up to a tree, _Zorro_," she said in her Hispanic accent, rolling her _r_'s, she then turned to bow deeply at me "Sheriff," and walked off, indignant.

Stan became rigid in fury at that comment, inhaling and exhaling loudly through his nose, his eyes turned to angry slits as he scrutinized her closely until she disappeared from view, most probably to go see her human companion.

"That will not be necessary, Underling." _My answer strained by the effort to keep her contained in my weakened state of prolonged fasting. For the exception of yesterday evening, I hadn't fed in over two weeks. I concealed this from Isabel, she worried too much. And my feeding habits were no one's interest but my own. She would never have succeeded at surprising me, twice, if it wasn't for my current diet, no matter her stealth or agility._

"I've ordered in for the night, if you want to partake, Sheriff."

"Thank you, Underling, but I am not hungry." _That was not true. The hunger was tearing at me, demanding I fed. But, I categorically refused to give in to it. Infinitely preferring the pain of abstinence over the sentiment of fulfilment provided by the taking of blood. I do not completely understand my obstinacy to maintain such a senseless diet. Perhaps it was because feeding no longer held any appeal. It no longer brought me any pleasure as it once did. Long ago. In all truth, blood had become mourn and tasteless. It was…sustenance. Perhaps that is why I favored True Blood with its bitter taste. My child was correct, it was _vile_. But then, I _am_ vile._

"I will retire for the day, goodnight."

"Sheriff," Stan said in his gruff voice, nodding at me.

* * *

**Chapter 5: For thou hast tasted the corrupt blood and befouled the Earth**

**Angel,  
****Bringer of Death,  
****I shall strike down upon thee,  
****Whom hast dared Befoul the Earth,  
****Lament,  
****For thou is of the Night,  
****Wicked Creature,  
****Born of the Evil of Men,  
****Thou hast tasted the Corrupt Blood,  
****The Forbidden Sweet Wine of the Innocent,  
****And soiled the Harvest to Reape,  
****For, Severing Scythe in hand,  
****Thy Blood shall flow,  
****Into bloodletting,  
****The Evil.**

**Dallas, Texas**

**Godric**

I secured my hold on my feral kitten and took her down the stairs to a secluded cell underground, meant to hold her in until I administered her punishment. It was too close to sunrise to hold a hearing tonight. Midway to her cell, she faltered and fell to her knees. _At first, I thought she was being childish and resisted by making me drag her to her final destination. _That was until she started wailing in pain and grasped at her head. She howled and wailed lowly in between gasps of acute pain._ I thought it might be a ploy to escape, but that idea was quickly dismissed when I saw the appearance of blood filling the rim of her eyes. Not once, when I was chasing her did she shed a tear. She was rebellious and obstinate. Her harsh personality characteristic of being headstrong forbade her from showing weakness in front of anyone, rendering her vulnerable_. Tears of crimson rolling down her cheeks and staining her unblemished ivory complexion. Dark eyes full of pain, I let her go and she crumpled to the floor in a heap of excruciating pain, recoiled in on herself. Then, the pain intensified so much, she became silent, for the exception of the occasional sob or gasped whimper forced out of her throat. _Perhaps her maker was calling her, rather forcefully. It could cause pain, but not that quickly since the pain usually came in waves, for the exception of an elder vampire that could cause pain instantly due to their ancient age, unless she was being punished or breaking a Maker's Command. It was rather peculiar. It almost reminded me of the severing of a Blood Bond. Not with a human, but perhaps with her Maker? Or perhaps the pain experienced if one's Blood Bonded was being tortured?_ I kneeled by her side and softly nudged her into my lap, in a comforting embrace.

"Éléanor," I tried, calling out to her in a soothing tone full of reassurance. Tears streamed down her lovely features etched with pain, soft whimpers emanating from her, like a wounded pet kitten.

"Éléanor," I continued in the same soothing voice, "can you feel a bond? With your Maker, perhaps? Is that what is causing the pain? A blood link?"

"My Maker…is…", she gasped for air, "…fi–…fine…", she answered between soft sobs, more like gasps of pain.

"Do you have a Blood Tie or a Blood Bond with a human, perhaps? Or vampire siblings, sired by the same Maker?"

"I don't…think…I have–", she gasped, "…_any_ siblings."

_She _thinks_ she doesn't have siblings? How could she not know whether or not she had siblings? She would feel it through the Bond. Unless she had so many Bonds and Blood Ties with Humans, she could no longer tell the difference, and was driven mad from it. It would certainly explain her earlier outburst of rage. Hence, the killing rampage we've had to extinguish. Vampires have been known to go mad from too many Bonds and Ties, thus why I always taught my child that « the Blood is Sacred ». Surely, her maker knew better than to let her give her blood freely to any passing human. If she was driven mad from the Blood, I couldn't punish her for her actions, the Authority prevented such treatment. Although it would be my duty if I suspected such a case, as rare as they are, to provide immediate treatment by summoning a trustworthy witch into our service or that of the Authority and to ensure the severing of all bonds, or to end the humans concerned if no such sorceress could be found. This solution was contradictory to our very nature, since we dislike those initiated in the Dark Arts. It would be difficult to find a trustworthy Pagan Healer._

The pain seemed to pass. Her sobs quieted and so did her soft whimpers, she stood facing me and wiped the tears off her face, seemingly ready to proceed. But, I wasn't. I, as Sheriff, needed to know what had caused this, in order to ensure the safety of the vampires in my area. If it wasn't her Maker or a Bond, it might be a witch. We, Vampires, dislike immensely any and all who dwell in the Dark Arts, for a Necromancer has risen from their midst on more than one occasion, often seeking retribution. The last time one such had risen was during the Spanish Inquisition. We've all heard the tales of the powerful witch turned Necromancer of Logroño.

I looked at her attentively, she might attempt to attack me once again or seek to escape. She met my eyes with her own unconcerned ones, obviously unbothered by her episode. This might mean it's happened before, on several occasions. As Sheriff, it is my duty to look into it. She might be used, somehow, perhaps witchcraft. This meant her actions might not be of her own doing, and therefore, she wasn't to be punished, but taken in my care.

"I think it passed," she said, with a confident look in her obsidian eyes, hoping to disengage my sudden interest in her blatant state of distraught. She did seem fine, outwardly, but I knew differently.

"Where is your Maker?" _Surely, he felt her pain. He should be here by now, if it wasn't for the rising sun, perhaps tomorrow evening. That is, if he indeed cared at all for his child._

That question was met again with a furious dark stare. Her posture grew rigid, and her stance defensive. Her jaw tightened and she gave me a dark glare, one I would remember.

"Where's yours–" she bit out tartly, in anger, intent on not answering that particular question, but was cut short as blood seeped out of her mouth. More seemed to come that she tried to block by clamping her mouth shut and covering it with her hand. Of course, it was utterly in vain as more blood poured through her mouth, which she tried to prevent by adding her second hand, and seeped through her fingers, dripping down her arms like expensive lace.

"Éléanor!"

I immediately grabbed her for support and pulled her quickly up the stairs and into the kitchen. All the windows in my nest were light tight. There wouldn't be any danger if we were still in the kitchen and the sun came up at an inopportune moment. _Her Maker's blood would heal her better than any remedy I could offer her. The next best thing was to feed her fresh blood from the source. As that wasn't an option for the time being, donor blood would have to suffice until sundown. She would sleep in my quarters so I could keep watch over her. She was no threat to me, even in my vulnerable state during daytime, as she was still much too young to be able to keep awake during daylight hours. Not to forget that she would go to rest before me, and only waken long after I would. The only precaution I should take was to feed more around her, in case she might get an episode and try to take me by surprise._

I pulled her to me and quickly grabbed a handful of donor bags from the refrigerator. More blood seeped out of her mouth and dripped on my arm holding her upright and upper torso, staining my already soiled tunic. Her frail lithe body racked and contracted in convulsions, arms crossed over her tormented stomach, as yet more blood dribbled down her chin.

"Éléanor, you must drink." I said, urgently, as ripped a bag open to facilitate the flow and brought it near her mouth.

"I'm not hungry." She stated firmly, as she stubbornly turned her head away from me.

_My mouth dropped and I stared, incredulous; she was stubbornly refusing the only thing that could do her good. It was absurd!_

"You_ headstrong_, foolish girl!" I exclaimed, "You _will_ feed, _I wasn't asking_."

She brusquely turned her head back to me and venomously glared at me.

"I'm not hungry," she said, her jaw tightening. More blood seeped out of her mouth and dribbled down her chin, where it rolled in burgundy droplets, criss-crossing in and intricate design.

"That does not matter, you will feed if I have to hold you down and force it down your throat, as your Sheriff I order it." I said in a commanding tone, getting increasingly irritated with her stubborn attitude.

She glared at me with anger and defiance in her eyes, challenging me. A look which I reciprocated, more than aggravated.

I constricted my arm around her waist in an unbreakable hold, then grasped both her wrist in a fluid movement. She tried to get her hands away and failed. I was far older, stronger and faster than her. I grabbed both her wrists with my free hand in a swift movement to fast for her to counter. I then secured her hands in my hold, holding her from behind. My brawny arm now solidly wrapped around her upper torso and over her crossed arms like a straightjacket. She struggled vehemently in my stronghold. But it was all for naught.

I then raised the opened blood bag to her lips, intent on feeding her. She clamped her mouth shut and turned her head this and that way in an attempt to evade me. _Her obstinacy and defiance had to end._

"You stubborn child!" I exclaimed, my accent much more prominent. _I was losing my patience. I should feed to keep my emotions in control. « A vampire is never at the mercy of their emotions, they dominate them. »_

I grabbed a handful of blood bags and took her upstairs to my chambers. I closed the door behind me and guided her into the bathing room. I turned the lights on and lifted her over the edge of the spacious bathtub. _This would be messy_. I then settled my charge in between my thighs, in a rapid flurry of movements too fast for her, and held her crossed hands over her torso with my legs, holding her against me like before. I then grabbed her jaw and pressed in the hollow of her cheeks with thumb and fingers to force her mouth open. I leaned back against the tub and pulled her against my chest, leaning her head back. She whimpered and meowed in protest and struggled against my hold as I took once again the open bagged blood and raised it to her lips. I barely tipped the bag and poured some, she started choking on it, refusing to swallow it. I poured more and it seeped out of her mouth as it overflowed in rivulets at the corners of her lips. She then freed one of her hands and painfully clawed at my arm, the one forcing her mouth to remain open, drawing blood. I hissed in anger and pain, my fangs elongating, and caught the offending claws to put them back into my hold, all the while she spat out the blood as if it was vile.

"You stubborn, _maddening_ _woman_, my _own child_ is not as obstinate!" I spat, incensed, in my thick accent.

She continued to struggle and meow and hiss and growl, refusing to admit herself vanquished.

"Why do you refuse to drink?" I soothed in the shell of her ear, through my sharp fangs.

_She ceased struggling and became still, as if sedated, but did not breathe a single word, as if to defy me with her prolonged silence._

"Éléanor," I said in the same soothing tone, "what is it you fear?"

She became rigid and tense, but remained quiet, eerily so_. I wouldn't succeed at making her feed tonight. Or talk, it seemed. We should retire. I can feel the pull of the sun, urging me to seek shelter._

"Come," I said, standing and pulling her up against my chest, keeping her secure, "we should retire for the day."

I wrapped a brawny arm around her midsection and guided her to the bedchamber. _She started to get agitated, much like newborns get aggressive when they feel the pull of the sun. They sense the danger, but don't understand it. That is why the bond is crucial; it provides comfort to the child. It makes them feel safe, secure. And after a time, they don't need the comfort as much, they simply go to rest. But, as she got more agitated, I could only conclude her maker did not care to ease her into her day rest. Mayhap, he took a perverse pleasure into watching her grow aggressive in her state of distraught. Mine once did._

She then twisted out of my arm and sped over to the other side of my chambers and recoiled in a low crouch, a defensive posture full of hostility. _Ridiculous._ She growled at me, feral, and her eyes bled black in aggression. Her soft pout slightly open displayed her sharp fangs as she growled low in her throat. When I took a step towards her, her dark eyes turned to slits and she viciously hissed at me, as her muscles tensed and her fingers took the shape of claws. She was recoiled in on herself with the grace of a spider. _If I didn't want a repeat of this evening, I should put an end to this…absurd show of defiance_, I sighed heavily.

I sped over to her in a swish and grabbed her from behind, holding her at the back of the neck as if a wayward kitten.

"Enough." I gave a slight shake as I said it in a tone full of authority, my accent more prominent in my state of aggravation. She growled low like an angry kitten, her back so rigid, like glass it might fracture and break.

In a fast flurry of movement, she twisted back in my hold, and slashed at my face with her sharp nails. She took advantage of the slight distraction it provided to rupture my hold. I quickly sped to her, only to see her evade me. _She was rather fast for one so young._ A true testament to her speed and vicious disposition bled on my cheekbone in thin red lines, merged and dissipated, leaving my alabaster complexion unblemished. My displayed fangs elongated, I was irritated with her brazen attitude._ As we grew older, our complexion grayed and our fangs grew longer._

She was perched on the edge of the bed, recoiled and feral, hissing at me in malevolence with a vicious glare. _No doubt, if I got near enough she would attempt to claw at my face or tear at my flesh with her fangs, or perhaps altogether flay me_. I looked directly in her eyes, judging of her intentions, which elicited a low growl from her. I swished behind her in a movement too fast for her young senses to capture and tackled her on the bed. Straddling her soft form with my weight, I settled on my spread knees and caught both her wrists flying at me in one hand above her head, as the other was firmly wrapped around her throat. It was a posture of dominance and intimidation, a hold she couldn't escape from. However, she continued to hiss at me with more ardent fervor. Hoping to twist out of my hold and to claw at my face. She growled and hissed at me showing fang like an angry kitten. _Yes, _a kitten_, angry and outraged and feeling justified, but all at once innocent and feral. Such a _delightful_ contradiction, one couldn't resist the temptation to provoke her and then to find her justified anger…_adorable.

She finally settled to growl at me in an angry purr. Her dark eyes into malevolent slits and her lips slightly apart, showing fang in a frozen aggression.

"You feel the pull of the sun, child. It is simply a presage, a subconscious manifestation of your intuition to seek shelter for your day rest, if you will." I explained in a soothing tone. The aggression left her eyes, she was listening. The angry purr ceased. I removed my hand from around her soft throat, she was unmoved by it, so focused was she on me.

"This intuition is common to all of us," I continued "some however feel it more keenly than others. One might presume they are more sensitive to their instincts, or that they listen more. In some rare cases, it is sign of an ability that few of us possess." Those great dark eyes dilated, absorbing every word. Her fangs retracted into her gums. _I suspect she did not even notice_. All signs of aggression left her. Gone was her rigid posture. I released her hands and they moved of their own accord to rest on her chest, in comfort and ease. _And those great obsidian orbs stared back at me as if in fixation or fascination, a kitten, indeed._

"Éléanor," I soothed as I bargained a touch that might send into oblivion my slow progress or seal it "intuition is _not_ a weakness, ignoring it, however, _is_; it makes you vulnerable."

"_You are safe_." I said, with my long muscled hands caressing both her cheeks in earnest and looking intently into her eyes. She did not recoil from the touch, in all consideration she seemed to appreciate it. Her dark eyes exuded warmth and those gold amber flecks ornated her irises once more.

Not abusing the contact, I moved away and off her, _slowly_ as to not alarm her, and kneeled at her side. The sun was about to rise, I could feel the pull weighing on me, she would feel it more keenly in her youth and wouldn't be able to resist succumbing to its cajoling embrace.

The moment I settled on my knees beside her, she reached out to me, splaying her delicate hand on my solid muscled chest_. I did not expect it. I tensed_, feeling her fingers through my cotton grey shirt. _It has been a while since I was last touched in such an intimate fashion. By anyone. The last one I allowed such liberties might have been Eric. No other in my nest or otherwise would dare touch me, especially in such an intimate fashion_. She raised herself from her laying form and kneeled facing me, _almost intimately in proximity. Or perhaps it was the closeness brought by her dark eyes looking intently into my own dark orbs_. She looked deep into my eyes, her own rimmed with red, _seeking…approval, permission…? It seemed she found what she sought, as she engulfed me into a hug, a heartfelt embrace, for comfort and perhaps…affection. I was astonished at her open display of affection, when minutes ago she was ready to flay me with only the sting of her sharp nails_. I took a moment to return the gesture and wrap my own brawny arms around her delicate silhouette. _Strangely, her embrace seemed to seek my strength, as her elder,_ as she did not wrap her arms around my shoulders, but tightly wound them around my midsection. And she bent her head underneath my chin and laid it on my chest. _She was a little shorter than my own 5.8 feet stature. I suspected she did not often trust with such ease, it was perhaps a rare display of trust and comfort. She was right not to give her trust to anyone_.

Her arms tightened around me and settled. Her soft weight slowly molded into mine as she succumbed to her day rest. I settled on my side, pulling her against me as I did so. I wrapped my arms around her to give her the comfort she sought in her day rest. I rather liked the feeling of her soft curves molded against me as I waited for death to take me.

* * *

What is believable? Or was it too fast paced with the emotions? (Spoiler Alert: but not really) I moved a bit fast with the character development in this chapter because it will slow down soon enough. I need to establish an emotional base between Godric and Éléanor, because new development is coming up, and then they won't be able to bond so liberally.

So, what do you think? What did you love or hate? Please, please review, I love your ideas, it helps me write. I really need ideas right now to build up my plot before I get really into it.

I still need a beta-reader, anyone interested?

Love,

Proserpina


	6. And then I shall make thy eyes bleed

**Warning :** this story will contain passages of cruelty, sadism, brutality, violence, suggestive themes and coarse language. If you're weak of heart, it might offend your tender sensibilities. Thus, if you might take offense, do not read.

**This particular chapter will contain cruelty and sadism. Be advised.**

* * *

**Music Theme:  
**Carolyn Fever – Scary Music Box (Slender Man)  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=f8fUFmjqXZo

Dreaming of Nowhere – Dark Ambient music  
www. youtube (insert dot here) com/ watch?v=lPtd4ZcYcEc

* * *

**Chapter 6: And then I shall make thy eyes bleed shallow**

**And then I shall look,  
****_Deep_****,  
****Into thy fine eyes,  
****And pluck out the ****_Stars_****,  
****That lie therein,  
****Make them ****_Bleed_****,  
****And look into thy ****_Soulless_**** eyes:  
****What ****_Shallow_**** _Windows_.**

**Paris, 1927**

**Éléanor**

[In German:] "Have I ever told you I once met Edgar Allan Poe?" He asked me in his thick roman accent.

[In German:] "It was in 1844, whilst I was visiting the New Continent. I was in New York at the time. I would never deign to converse so readily with a mortal, but he had a vile darkness in him which I liked, a macabre and grotesque side. We talked of the evil of men and ended the evening conversing on the subject of revenge. At the time, he was looking for inspiration. I never believed my tale of revenge would inspire him. He wrote a short story of it – rather poetic in its gruesomeness – I believe he called « _The Casque of Amontillado _»."

"Have you read it?"

"No, _Domine_." [Latin: Doh-mi-né: Master, as in Master of the slave]

"A pity. It is a tale of immurement." He said with a sardonic smile.

* * *

Whenever I did something he did not approve of, before he would reprimand me, he used to always tell me:

"_Shall you be my Fortunato?_" In his deep soothing tone, contrasted with his chilling accent. Whenever he said that phrase, he had that cold icy glint in the endless depth of his stygian orbs. It always sent icy chills to run down my neck, to my back and slender arms.

* * *

**2009, alongside the Madeira river,  
****outside the city of Porto Velho, Brazil**

It was darker than night when I regained consciousness from having fed on ill blood. I could still feel it spreading through my bloodstream. My veins afire with acidity, corrupted like the vile infection that consumes an apple and turns it to a bitter cider.

It painfully seared at my throat as the unforgiving silver sunk deeper into the soft flesh. The noble metal melted the skin as it painfully dug into the delicate bones of my wrists tied overhead. The chains were securely screwed into the limestone wall. There were bones at my feet, protruding from the muddy sand, the soft flesh rotten and decomposed was still attached to the sinews at the extremities.

The tide was slowly and meticulously rising from the cove, and more water flowed in at my feet, coming in waves from the restrained space underneath the limestone walls. The water now reached my ankles. I looked at the jagged stone walls and saw a clear horizontal line of calcium deposit that went up to my chin. When this cave would fill with water, I would be nearly submerged. But it was still a secluded corner at the end of the cavern where the ceiling was low and where the ground made a steep descent, surmounted by handmade stonewalls which left an opening large enough for a wide window. It was smaller than the average prison 6x8 feet cell. And the low ceiling gave me a claustrophobic feeling. It was pitch black.

"Sais-tu ce qui est arrivé à Prométhée, Éléanor?" [French: Do you know what happened to Prometheus, Éléanor?], He said in his thick Roman accent.

He was standing outside my stone cell and bent in a fluid movement to grab something I couldn't see, my vision obstructed by the edge of the stone wall that made an opening large enough to sit on when crossing from one side to another.

"Non, _Domine_" [No, Master]

He raised himself from his crouch that was hidden from view and appeared with a trowel covered in cement. He laid the fresh cement on the bottom stone wall of the opening and evened it out with the trowel.

A cold icy chill ran down my back in glacial shivers.

_He would wall me in alive…_

"_Domine_, –" [Master] I tried in a pleading tone.

"FAC SILENTIUM." [Latin: Silence/Be quiet] He cut me with his dry tone that left no room for argument and gave me a wry look with a malevolent glint in his dark eyes. The bond violently tugged at me, as if a choking collar on a leash. His command immediately and effectively silenced my protests.

He then crouched again, hidden from sight for the exception of his bent head. And re-appeared with stone cut with the likeness of a brick, but much bigger, which he then put in the right corner of the opening. He added some cement on the edge of the stone that would line with the next one and evened it out once more with the trowel. He continued this process as he lectured me _one last time_.

[In accented French:] "You see, in Greek Mythology, Prometheus was a Titan. His name means Foresight, Forethinker if you will. One day, Zeus gave him a task, to him and his brother, Epimetheus, son of Lapetus. A task at which he failed. As the one having the gift of foresight, Prometheus was the cleverer of the two, in contrast, Epimetheus, lacking foresight, was a fool. He was the dull-witted brother of the two, hence his name, Hindsight, or rather Afterthinker. It is rather ironic that it is his gift of foresight which ultimately caused his downfall. After Zeus created all the living creatures out of clay and fire to populate the Earth, he summoned the two brothers to complete a task. They were entrusted to distribute natural qualities to the newly born creatures that would help them survive. Each living creature was to receive a gift, a natural attribute to ensure its survival. Thus, the rabbit received agility and speed to counter for the clever mind of the fox, and so on. Prometheus sets his brother to work, but being unwise, he distributed all the virtues amongst the animals, and thus when the time came to give such a virtue to Men, he had none left to give, leaving Men in its natural state; defenseless and unprotected. Men's natural state of being lies in its inability to survive in a hostile world. They were left barren to defend themselves against hostile creatures and the beasts that hunt them. Having failed at his task, Prometheus decided to acquire fire from the workshop of Athena and Hephaistos to give it to Men. By taking fire from Hephaistos, the blacksmith god, he committed the crime of theft. He stole a Godly virtue. Fire is not only a flame, warmth and light, it is the art of fire, _techne_; the ability to take something and make it into something other. _Techne_ is distinguished from the other natural virtues, which are mere instincts, by its creative power. When Zeus found out of Prometheus' treachery, he was furious. And so, to rectify his tragic error, he distributed another godly virtue to mankind, the ability to live together happily in a civilized society. Thus, he bestowed the highest of godly virtues, reverence and justice, to Men in equal measure. But, Prometheus committed a terrible crime, he stole _techne_ from the Gods to make up for his error, when he had no defining attribute or rather physical trait to give men, he chose to give them the civilizing art of fire. And so, he needed to be punished for his wrongdoing. As punishment, Zeus sentenced the Titan Prometheus to eternal torment for his transgression. Henceforth, the immortal Prometheus was to be bound to a rock, whereupon each day an eagle was sent to feast upon his liver, which would then grow back to be eaten again the next day."

He continued to lecture me with his deeply accented voice as he finished the third row of stones and started on the fourth and last row. He laid more cement on top of the stones and put another stone into place, pressed on it to keep it in place, and evened out the excess of cement with the trowel.

[In French:] "When the tide rises each day, you will know such torment. You see, in these waters lies a ferocious fish with a rather…_voracious_ appetite. They have been made out to be a grievous affliction to the men of these nearby tribes. Fish are insensately dense creatures, for they do not make the distinction between the flesh of men and that of the dead. And just like in the tale of the great Titan Prometheus, you will heal each day only to be eaten the next. That is, until you heal _no more_."

The chilling water now reached my waist and kept swirling higher. The stone wall only left a space large enough for a single stone at eye level on his last row. I could perceive his chilling obsidian eyes in the darkness.

"Thou shall not feed on a single drop of blood, as thy Maker, I command thee." He seethed harshly and venomously glared at me.

_I could feel the bond wounding tightly around me, biting into my soft flesh like hot iron, and binding me to his harsh command._

"_Domine_…" I said pleadingly.

"_Nemo me impune lacessit_" [No one insults me with impunity], he sneered at me in old latin.

He then put the last stone that cut the last rays of the moon and sealed me in.

I stared into the endless darkness of my _Underworld_. Or rather my very own _Tartarus_; a tenebrific and sinister _Abyss_, deep, deep below _Hades_ that serves as a "dungeon of torment and suffering for the wicked".

A single crimson tear rolled down my satin pommette [French: cheekbone], as a single phrase resonated in the deep _abyss_:

_« Nemo me impune lacessit »_

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For this scene, you really should read Edgar Allan Poe's _The Casque of Amontillado_. It inspired me when I wrote this chapter. It is not too long and it is brilliant, but chilling. You should still read it for your culture. Here's the link:

(insert ht tp, double dots, double slash) xroads. virginia. edu/ ~hyper/ POE/ cask . html

**Disclaimer:** "Fortunato" and the latin citation "Nemo me impune lacessit" belong to Edgar Allan Poe. And my description of Tartarus was inspired by Wikipedia's article titled "Tartarus".

What do you think? I couldn't pick a fish, as it would make it cheesy, even though I thought of piranhas, also called _Caribes_. I wanted that mythological feel to it. Keep some things a mystery, not give away everything. Was it cruel enough? What is your impression? Love it? Hate it? Please, please tell me what you think. Should he be more cruel? What would be a more cruel punishment? Any ideas or suggestions?

(Spoiler Alert)  
Éléanor's maker won't always speak like that, but when he commands her, he goes back to his roots, so does the language invoked, as he is very old. I wanted to make him sound like Hannibal Lecter, you know, lecturing you with something fascinating and creepy just as he punishes you.

* * *

For my wonderful reviewers, and all those silent readers, yes I know you're there lol, I posted a second chapter to thank you all and to show my appreciation. I promise, I won't always show my appreciation in such a gruesome and cruel way rofl.

A special thanks to _electrogirl88_, as I was desperate for a review. A heartfelt thank you for your support.


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